


Against the Boards

by lanime17



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanime17/pseuds/lanime17
Summary: Patrick isn't as young as he used to be, although he still tries when he's on the ice. The aftermath of a tough game leaves him needing his husband's love and care.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 31
Kudos: 125





	Against the Boards

“How was the game?” David asked from the couch as Patrick jostled his way through the back door into the mud room. He deposited his hockey bag on the floor and made an audible grunt relieved of its weight as he leaned his sticks in the corner. 

“Eh.” Patrick replied. Honestly, it had been a bit rougher than he would have liked to admit. The new league in Elm Hill was a little more full contact than he was used to. He also might not want to admit as the years passed, jumping over the boards for his shift was a little harder, changing directions took a little longer, and keeping up with the young guys on the ice took a little more stamina than he remembered. And then there was number 17. That guy was gunning for him tonight. 

Every time he had the puck and looked up, there 17 was… barreling down on him, ready to plow into him. Patrick was able to escape his checks during the first period, but as his energy dissipated through the game, 17’s just seemed to increase. He’d taken a hard body shot in the corner early in the second period. He tried to retaliate on his next shift, but came up short and had to cut a corner or risk running into his own goalie. Late in the second, 17 came at him in the neutral zone and literally flipped him head over heels, which luckily drew a two minute penalty. Patrick felt the guy deserved it, considering the wind was nearly knocked out of him on that one. 

Third period was a blur as Patrick was just barely holding it together and trying to keep up with the other guys in their 30s, now being one of the older men on the team. There was a bit of a scuffle after a face-off in their own zone, but Patrick was able to evade any real involvement - for a moment. With a minute left, 17 took a shot, which was deflected and then proceeded to slam into the goalie. Patrick flew over to defend their goalie and as soon as he skidded to a stop, 17 leapt up and sucker punched him in the ribs. Patrick fell and his team came in pushing 17 back and out of the way as the ref slid in blowing her whistle. 

Patrick headed to the locker room and changed, opting to head home instead of going out with the guys for a beer like he normally did after a game. 

“Wait, aren’t you home early?” David sat up, suddenly realizing Patrick was back a good hour or two before he normally would be.

“Yeah, rough game. Decided to call it an early night.” He kissed David on the forehead. “I’m gonna hit the shower and go to bed. You ok?”

“Yep, I’ve got a rom com and snacks. All good.”

Patrick made his way up the stairs a little more gingerly than he would usually take them, noticing that taking deep breaths was just a smidge more difficult than usual. He was hopeful a long hot shower, a few Tylenols and a good night's sleep would take care of the aches and pains. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What is that?” David sleepily grumbled to no one, except that annoying noise coming from Patrick’s side of the bed. It takes a few moments for him to register that it is in fact Patrick’s alarm - going off - on a Monday - when they are in fact - closed. David rolled over to turn off said offending alarm, not expecting to come into contact with Patrick’s warm, soft body or the moan of pain that escaped from him as he did so. 

“Patrick? What are you still doing in bed?” David looked back at his bedside clock and checked the time. “It’s 9:30! Don’t you usually rise with the sun to accomplish all of your tasks before I greet the day?”

Patrick groaned, without movement in any direction that indicated whether or not he would be vacating his side of the bed at any point in the near future. David attempted a different tactic.

“Sweetie,” David inched close to his husband, arms folded under his chest but pressed next to Patrick’s side, his chin hovering over Patrick’s chest. At this, Patrick opened one eye and used it to find David’s face and the grin being angled in his direction.

“Hi,” Patrick responded sheepishly.

“How are you doing?” David asked. Genuinely interested, but also playfully concerned.

“Honestly?” 

“Always.”

“Not so good,” Patrick admitted.

David’s half-smirk, half-smile disappeared instantly and his brows furrowed together into one long squiggle across the top of his forehead as his cheeks rose and his mouth drew tight. The number of facial muscles required to go from one emotion to the other should have been catalogued as their own HIIT workout and posted to TikTok. “What’s going on?” 

“The game last night was… rough. I got banged up quite a bit and I’m really feeling it this morning. Everything hurts,” he sighed. “I took some tylenol and had a hot shower and I thought a good night's sleep would help, but I think I just feel worse.”

“Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. What can I do? How can I make it better?” David waited patiently as Patrick ran over the scenarios in his head that would make him more comfortable, that David could actually accomplish and that wouldn’t make either of them feel inappropriate. He finally settled on a few things.

“Ok, how about some tea and toast for breakfast? Then maybe find the icy/hot for a massage?” He raised his light eyebrows hopefully, “And maybe just.. be with me today while I try not to think about how much older I am than all those other players.”

“You got it. I’ll go make your toast and tea. I'll even bring up the apricot and peach jams for you to choose.” He gives his husband a small smile. “I’m feeling an English Breakfast Tea, yeah? With honey and milk?” 

Patrick nodded in response to everything David said. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Back in a few.” David pressed a kiss to his temple, then rolled out of bed to go put together Patrick’s request.

Patrick lay back down with his eyes closed hoping for a few more minutes of respite. He figures he will need all he can get. His ribs feel pretty awful - breathing shouldn’t be so hard. From experience he knows that laughing and coughing are out of the question. He’s curious if there is any physical evidence of what number 17 did to him last night, but he’s in too much pain to attempt to examine himself. 

However, when David returned with the tray table, he was willing to ask for David’s help getting to the bathroom. The pair carefully made it to the ensuite and Patrick turned to get situated, his shirt rose ever so slightly, revealing a dark, deep purple bruise along his ribcage that ran the length of his torso. David gasped at the size of it and proceeded to become indignant at the ‘human’ -and he uses that term loosely- who caused it. 

“It’s just hockey, David. There are going to be bumps and bruises. He got a penalty for it.”

“Was the penalty an ass-kicking behind the rink? Because that sounds like the only fair penalty I would be willing to accept.”

“David, you know that is not how hockey works. Just let me go to the bathroom and then you can rub icy/hot on all of the parts that have any color other than translucent. Ok?” Patrick tried to make a joke, but David was still angry. 

David finally conceded, the air a huff out of his mouth as he turned and left the ensuite, shutting the door as he left. He loved that Patrick still did all of his sportsball activities, but they were both getting older. How many more years would his body be able to take hits and recover and be back to the regular, resilient Patrick he knew and fell in love with? Was this the last time? Did they need to have a talk about cutting back? About finding more age-appropriate activities? How hard would that be? He knows that Patrick still wants to think of himself as that 21 year old kid, invincible, able to play a double-header, drink all night and then go to work the next day completely unphased. But that’s not who he is anymore. He plays in the Sunday night league because the store is closed Monday so he has an extra day off to recuperate in case the game is tough. 

By the time David had gone through the spiral of questions in his head he had managed to find the icy/hot and returned to the bedroom with the miracle-in-a-jar, along with extra pillows, blankets, and a heating pad. He laid everything out on the bed, then he heard Patrick calling from the bathroom. 

“David?”

“Yes?”

“Can you.... maybe come back in here?”

“Uhm, sure.”

David was unsure what he was about to find. He’d seen it all after being married for so long, but how Patrick will feel about it is unknown sometimes. As it was, Patrick was sitting on the toilet, still in his pj pants, like he’d just sat down to rest and couldn’t get back up to standing. 

“I could use a little help here. There’s nothing to lean on and my ribs are killing me. Can you...just...?”

“Sure.” David stood in front of Patrick and held out his arms to let Patrick reach out and steady himself. “Ok, I got it from here.”

“You sure?” David asked.

“Yeah. Just going to brush my teeth and head straight back to bed.”

David hesitated, but left him alone, and sat on the edge of the mattress. Just moments later, Patrick emerged and shuffled over to the bed and collapsed as cautiously as possible. David waited for him to get situated then arranged the pillows and blankets to make a cozy little nest for him. He lifts Patrick’s shirt to gently apply the icy/hot on the worst of the bruises. As Patrick settled in, David added the heating pad and set it to low, and then grabbed his phone for a 20 minute alarm to remind them to switch out the heat. David was practically ready to feed the toast and tea to Patrick so he could make sure nothing was too hot or too crunchy or too anything.

Patrick gently took the mug from David before he could get him to try to sip. “David, really, I’m fine. Just banged up a bit. Nothing any other hockey player hasn’t been through before.”

“But you’re my first hockey player and I’ve never been through this before and I want to make sure I do it right. I don’t want you to end up in the hospital paralyzed because I failed to do a step of simple home care remedy that any mom of an 8-year-old would know,” David said, his hands fluttering in the air around him.

Patrick smiled, “David, you always take excellent care of me. Whether I was 8 or 80, I know I can always count on you for the very best care in all of the Greater Elms and beyond. I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you.”

David leaned in to give his husband a soft, lingering kiss. “I wouldn’t try to take care of anyone else.”

“I know.” Patrick reached for him and whimpered. “Can you get me a few more Tylenol and some water? Everything is starting to hurt again.” 

“Absolutely.” David stood, taking the tray table with him.

Patrick lay back into the pile of pillows, lifting his head only when David returned and told him to open up and gently placed the painkillers on his tongue. He chugged the rest of the water after he swallowed them down and held his arms up, inviting David into his space. 

David climbed back onto the bed and carefully curled up at his side. Feeling particularly generous, he cued up a hockey movie he knew Patrick would enjoy. He soon realized that Patrick was asleep before the end of the opening credits. He decided to let it play while he readied himself for the day - showered, dressed, and made a list of everything Patrick might need in the next few days to recover. 

As he started his facial routine, he began to concoct in his head the exact right thing to say if he ever came across the guy who’d bruised his beloved Button and make him understand that Patrick Brewer was not to be messed with again.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I recently got back on the ice (played hockey for over 20 years and now trying figure skating) and every fall takes 2+ days to recover from. Some are worse than others. At least with hockey there are pads. But nonetheless, made me think what a 40-something Patrick Brewer would feel like the day after getting pummeled by a 20-something out to prove...whatever. Thanks as always to my best beta @blackwhiteandrose.


End file.
